


Parade

by randomalia (spilinski)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Graves would look good in regimentals, M/M, Oneshot, That is all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 13:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14833073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilinski/pseuds/randomalia
Summary: George began to describe one of those battles but the officers on horseback were now passing by right in front of them and Credence was suddenly deaf to the surrounding noise.He swallowed hard. 'Who,' he said, 'who is that?'





	Parade

**Author's Note:**

> A regency au snippet. It was going to be a longer fic but since I didn't finish it, I thought I may as well post it -- I think it still works as a nice little oneshot ficlet.

Credence was supposed to be handing out leaflets to the passers-by. He knew he was, but the heavy sky had opened up shortly after he left the chapel and now he was wet and so too were the precious leaflets, which meant Ma would punish him for being careless again.

That was why he hadn't gone straight back home. Instead he'd walked on past the coal depot towards the docks, until he reached the little park where the trees were nodding with the steady rain, their grey branches tinged with tiny green shoots like feathers.

Credence loved the park when it rained. No one else was ever there. Sometimes he imagined that it was part of a grand estate, one with wide green lawns and a vast lake that reflected the sky, surrounded by willows and oaks and silvery birch trees, and a woodland that held soft and shadowy secrets. When the park was empty it was easy to imagine walking around an estate like that; easy to imagine all that space was his own. It would have a grand home to go with the land, of course; something with huge windows and sunny places to read. Credence sometimes wondered if he'd dreamed up this wonderful place or if, perhaps, he'd known something like it as a baby, before he'd been sent to the orphanage and adopted out to live in a small, dark room in a chapel that had rickety stairs and mice in the corners.

A group of young children ran toward Credence then, their wet faces bright with glee as their footsteps thundered along the path and sent water splashing into the air. Credence stepped aside to let them pass, smiling a little to see them so happy and free. For a moment he wished that he had run through puddles when he was a boy, but Ma had said it was improper, and now that he was twenty that was certainly true.

His smile dimmed. Ma was going to be so very cross about the leaflets. Perhaps he should throw them into the river and tell her that he had given them all out like she said -- but that would be a lie, and somehow Ma always knew when he was lying. He had the scars on his hands to remind him, ugly white lines where the belt buckle had cut into his skin. _Never tell lies_ , those scars warned. _God will punish you, and you will suffer._

Modesty once said that it was Ma who punished them, not God, but then whose fault was it that Ma had adopted them in the first place? If God was real and wanted to punish people, putting them in the care of someone like MaryLou Barebone was sure to make that happen.

Credence reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the spoiled roll of leaflets. The rain had softened the lettering so that the black lines of print that read _Witches are among us! Repent and Protect Your Families!_ had smudged and torn, and they looked a lot less intimidating like that. He would throw them away. No one would want them now -- no one ever wanted them, really -- so the dark, grimy river was probably the best place for them. After all, once Credence had been down by the docks and saw some people pulling a body out of the river, so a handful of silly paper wouldn't be so bad.

The rain eased off a little as he walked and he looked up, wiping his face and hearing as he did so the distant sound of cheering. He crossed the street curiously, ducking between carriages as they rattled over the cobblestones, and followed the sound through the twists and turns of the city until he saw a crowd gathered along the roadside. Down the middle of the street marched rows of soldiers, dressed in bright red uniforms and holding muskets against their shoulders. Credence shuffled forward until he stood at the front of the crowd and watched in fascination as the soldiers passed; there was a drummer and two men holding flags, and behind them came some other soldiers mounted on fine-looking horses -- those were officers.

Next to Credence stood a boy, skinny but red-cheeked, who looked up at him and said, 'They's going to Spain to fight the Frogs. I wish it were me! I have to wait til next year, Pa says, when I'm old enough.'

'How old are you now?' Credence asked. The boy looked terribly young to him, about the same age as the orphans who flocked to Ma's chapel looking for a bowl of soup.

'I'll be thirteen in June, sir,' the boy said, puffing his chest out proudly. 'George's my name. Are you going too? They says they need every man they can get to fight Ol' Boney.'

'I -- I don't know,' Credence said, and changed the subject. 'Which regiment are these?'

'That's the __th, of course. You never heard of 'em? They've won ever so many battles! My sister Nelly reads it all out of the newspaper for us.'

George began to describe one of those battles but the officers on horseback were now passing by right in front of them and Credence was suddenly deaf to the surrounding noise.

He swallowed hard. 'Who,' he said, 'who is that?'

'Which?' said George, obstusely.

'The man, the one there on the black horse, the tall one.'

'Oh, well, that must be Colonel Graves. This is his regiment. I s'pose we should have saluted him.'

'Colonel Graves,' Credence said unsteadily, watching as the Colonel rode away down the street.

'That's right,' said George blithely. 'He's always in the despatches. Nelly says the Prince Regent _particularly thanked_ him for his service -- imagine!'

'He sounds like -- a great hero.'

'I shall be a hero too -- as soon as I'm allowed!'

'I'm sure you will be,' Credence murmured. He could still just see Colonel Graves's dark head and strong shoulders above the now-fracturing crowd, and past the noise of people he could hear the beat of the drum.

As if the clouds knew the parade had passed by, the rain began to sweep back in, starting off with a sudden patter of rain and then falling in earnest, sending people scattering for cover. George whooped and dashed off into the grey of the city, but Credence stood still, lost in thought and uncaring of the rain. He was already wet, after all, and now strangely warm, and it was with a very pleasant air of distraction that he tossed the hated leaflets into the river and began to make his way home.

He thought back on it that night, in the late hours when the whole house was asleep. He thought about how Colonel Graves had looked at him for a moment, a shining moment, just as he had passed by on his towering warhorse. The Colonel's dark eyes had swept over the small crowd and paused, briefly, on Credence, causing a jolt to go through Credence’s insides. Colonel Graves had no reason to look at him, Credence thought. His clothes were old, and old-fashioned besides, and although he tried to be as neat as he could Credence knew he did not look appealing the way other young men did. For the most part, people didn’t look at him at all.

But Colonel Graves had. And Credence remembered the shock of it, the way that gaze had pierced him, as he lay in bed, gripping the bedsheets beneath him. He wanted to reach down under his sleeping clothes to where his body throbbed. He wanted to touch his fingertips to his hot skin as he remembered how Colonel Graves had looked against the pale grey sky, how his strong thighs had spread across the saddle, how Credence had looked up and Colonel Graves had looked back, so tall and well-formed, his dark brows and firm mouth, and the blazing red of his regimentals. By God, Credence had never seen anything so fine, so beautiful.

He mustn't, of course. He mustn't touch himself like that. It was a sin to give oneself pleasure, says Ma.

That must have been why it felt like sinning, standing there on the roadside in full view of God and all, looking at Colonel Graves.


End file.
